The Enemy of My Enemy
by razztaztic
Summary: When their children are threatened, Booth and Brennan are forced to accept help from an old nemesis. Keeping Zach and Christine safe means revealing old family secrets and uncovering skeletons locked away in forgotten closets. Rated T for language.


_This story requires homework. You should have read _On the Run_, _Once Upon a Summer_ and from _Roots and Wings_, Chapter 59: The Secret Lives of Parents and Chapter 62: Premonition. _

_Ready? Did you take notes? Here we go!_

_._

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The morning chaos followed a somewhat predictable pattern. Last minute homework was printed. Must-have items of clothing were located. Hotly contested bathroom time was bracketed by loud arguments and slamming doors. Despite the volume, however, the noise was familiar and comfortable and by the time Booth entered the bright, sunlit kitchen, his children's bickering had subsided to their usual squabble over breakfast cereal. Seated at the island and dressed in the same uniform of crisp khaki pants and white polo shirts, they didn't even look up when he passed them on his way to the coffee pot.

Brennan, absorbed in something on her laptop's screen, only absently acknowledged his kiss when he paused at her side.

"I'll drop the kids off this morning." Booth leaned against the counter and sipped carefully from the cup in his hand as he surveyed his family. "What's the deal after school?"

Still busy reading, Brennan's voice was distracted when she answered.

"I'm picking Zach up this afternoon. He's going to spend the rest of the day with me at the lab -"

"Because he has a crush on Cam!"

"I do not!"

Christine's teasing jibe brought a dull red flush to the 10-year-old's cheeks. Her eyes sparkled as, with the instinct of an older sister, she realized triumphantly that she'd hit a tender spot.

Unnoticed by either child, Booth and Brennan exchanged an amused smile over their heads.

"Zach has a crush on Cam!" Christine sang, and then added insult to injury when she leaned close, pursed her lips and made several loud, smacking kissing noises. "Zach has a crush on Caaaa-am!"

"No, I don't! Shut up!" The heat from her brother's face could have melted snow. He gave her a shove that almost pushed her out of the chair.

Undeterred, Christine simply laughed and made more kissing noises. "Zach has -"

"Chris." Booth took pity on his son's burning embarrassment and silenced the taunting with one syllable. His added look of warning closed Christine's mouth for good as he changed the subject. "What are you doing after school?"

She shrugged and took another bite of her breakfast. "Soccer practice. And then we're going to Emma's."

Booth and Brennan responded with the same look of alarm.

"Who's driving?"  
>"Who's providing transportation?"<p>

"Mrs. Reese is picking us up from practice." There was no need to question their concern. "And she said she'd drop me off here when she came back for Petra."

"If something comes up and she can't," Booth told her seriously, "call me. I'll swing by."

Christine accepted the instructions with a nod as she slid out of her chair and carried her now-empty cereal bowl to the sink. When Zach did the same, Booth opened the dishwasher in a pointed hint and downed the rest of his coffee.

While they gathered their belongings in preparation for leaving, he kissed Brennan again and added a squeeze of one hip.

"Got time for lunch today?"

The laptop closed with a snap. "Possibly. May I call you?"

"Sure."

After one more kiss and two brief hugs and "Bye, Mom!," the house emptied.

.

.

.

At 9:45 am, Booth returned to his office from a meeting. His admin held out a pink message slip.

"Dr. Brennan said she would be at the diner at 11:30, sir."

"Good, thanks."

.

.

.

Several blocks away, a lab employee Brennan didn't recognize stopped in the door of her office.

"Dr. Brennan? Your husband left a message for you. He said he'd meet you at the diner at 11:30."

Brennan looked at the blank screen of the cell phone that lay on her desk.

"Why didn't he call me directly?"

The woman was already walking away. "No idea. I'm just the messenger."

Brennan stared at her phone a minute longer, then shrugged and went back to her work.

Promptly at 11:30, she slid into a chair at an empty table inside the familiar little diner. The waitress was there almost immediately, smiling with the ease of long acquaintance and after a brief discussion, set down two napkin-wrapped place settings of silverware. She was back and pouring two cups of coffee when Booth arrived.

There was no need for menus. As the server walked away with their orders, Booth stretched one long arm over the back of the vacant chair on his left.

"What a morning," he groused. "I'm glad you decided you could do lunch. It gave me something to look forward to."

Elbows on the table, Brennan blew a soft breath across the hot liquid in the cup she held in both hands. "Your message reminded me that I neglected to eat breakfast this morning. Lunch seemed a good idea."

Booth reached for his own coffee. "What message?"

Glass clinked against Formica when Brennan set her cup down. "The one delivered to me. Why didn't you call my cell instead of using the lab's general number?"

A puzzled frown carved wrinkles in Booth's forehead. "I didn't call you, you called me. Darla told me when I got back from a meeting."

Brennan shook her head. "No, I didn't. You called me. I -"

"Glad you could both make it."

A lean figure slipped in behind Brennan and pulled out the empty seat beside her. Harland's expression showed cool amusement when his new companions stared at him in shock and, in Booth's case, a sudden dose of fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he bit out, his anger growing when Harland raised one finger at the waitress and mouthed the word _coffee._ "I told you what would happen if I ever saw you again."

Harland leaned back and, just for the fun of it, laid one arm along the back of Brennan's chair. He wore a battered, well-washed denim jacket over a black cotton t-shirt and the almost scruffy garments helped him blend in with the workers from a nearby construction site who made up most of the diner's lunchtime crowd. Close to Brennan in age, his boyish features made him look a decade younger - until, that is, you looked into the cold, flat grey eyes.

"Well, technically you told Keith," he corrected, as Booth's face tightened dangerously. "But I got the message."

"What do you want?"

The harsh demand came from Brennan, after a brief pause when the waitress returned with Harland's coffee and their previously ordered food.

Harland opened his jacket to reveal the edge of a yellow envelope sticking out of an inside pocket. He pulled it out and then removed several black and white photos.

"I need to know if you recognize any of these men."

Booth gave the four grainy images a cursory glance. Obviously taken without the subject's knowledge, they each showed a different man sitting behind the wheel of a plain, nondescript vehicle.

"Why would we?"

Harland left the photos on the table. "Just thought I'd check . . . since they've been watching your kids for the past week."

After one terrified beat of silence, Booth and Brennan immediately pushed back from the table and stood at the same time, seconds away from rushing out of the restaurant.

"Relax." Harland froze them in place with a hand on Brennan's arm. "The little Booths are fine."

"How do you know?" Her eyes were frantic.

He let her go with a lazy lift of one shoulder. "Because I'm watching them, too."

It was too much for Booth. Without warning, he reached across the table and grabbed two handfuls of Harland's denim jacket. Plates and cups rattled as he hauled the smaller man across the table and shook him. The other customers in the small diner gasped in alarm.

Booth ignored it all.

"You've got five minutes to tell me what in the goddamn hell is going on," he snarled.

One brave patron tried to intervene in the tense standoff. "Hey, man, what the -"

"FBI!" Booth snapped, without taking his eyes off Harland. "Back off!"

Harland stared back coldly. "You gonna let me go first?"

Booth shook him again. "Four minutes."

Neither man moved. Mutual loathing was etched on both faces.

"Three."

"Booth." Brennan covered one of Booth's knotted fists with her hand and kept her voice carefully neutral. "Let him go. We need to hear him out." She tugged at his fingers. "Booth."

Slowly . . . reluctantly, Booth loosened his grip until he finally set Harland free with a none-too-light shove that rocked the younger man back into his chair.

As Booth and Brennan slowly sat down again, Harland looked at the mess on his jacket caused by being dragged through Brennan's soup and then lifted his eyes to Booth.

"I'll send you my laundry bill."

"Stop it!" Brennan's dislike equaled Booth's. "I want to know why you're watching our children."

Harland made them wait while he dabbed ineffectually at the stain; with a grimace, he tossed the crumpled napkin aside and sat back.

"I promised Max before he died that I'd look after them."

"Why?" That answer wasn't enough for Brennan. "Why would he ask you to do that?"

"He seemed to think they needed watching. Guess he thought you might make an enemy or two." His shrug was deliberately taunting as he meet Booth's fiery gaze. "Hard to believe, you being such a friendly fella and all."

Booth almost came across the table for him again.

Brennan was having none of it.

"Stop goading him!" she ordered Harland. She jabbed at one of the photos with the tip of her finger. "Where were these pictures taken? How do you know these men are watching Zach and Christine?"

Harland pulled his attention away from Booth and focused on Brennan.

"They were taken outside their school," he answered simply. "My people noticed them right away - they never picked anyone up and besides that, they don't much look like they can afford the tuition there. They started showing up last Thursday, every afternoon, different guys but the same car."

"Get me the plate number," Booth ground out.

Harland raised an eyebrow. "Already ran them. Plates are stolen."

"How did you -" Booth's jaws snapped shut before he could finish the question. Harland's mocking grin caused a flush of anger to rise again beneath his skin.

Brennan drew Harland's attention again.

"That doesn't explain why you believe they're watching Zach and Christine. There are children from much wealthier families who attend that school. I don't want to wish for someone else to be in jeopardy but -"

"They followed your kids home. Well, not home," he amended, over Brennan's broken gasp of shock. "They followed your boy when that tutor of his picked him up Monday. Chris is always with that group of girls she -"

"Her name is Christine," Booth interrupted harshly.

Harland opened his hands in a 'so what?' gesture. "_Christine_ is always with her friends," he continued, "and so far nobody's tried to follow them but when Zach was tailed, my people called me. I've been at the school myself the last couple of days just to check it out and it smells. Something's up." He tapped the pictures as Brennan had. "First step was to find out what you knew."

Brennan's stricken gaze met Booth's. He immediately reached out to squeeze her hand.

"They'll be fine. We'll keep them home from school while I get a team in place -"

Harland interrupted with a contemptuous drawl. "Well, now that would be stupid." He seemed unconcerned over the growing threat from the dangerously angry man sitting across from him. "These guys," he waved a hand over the photos, "they're just hired hands. If they're not smart enough not to be noticed watching your kids, they're definitely not smart enough to be in charge. You want to know who is, we have to let this play out."

Booth's teeth ground together hard enough to be heard.

"My kids are not _bait!"_ With the last word, his voice rose to a decibel level just below a shout.

"No, they're a target," Harland snapped back. "You take them out of school and show up with cops crawling everywhere and whoever's after them is going to get spooked. Right now, they don't know we're there. We let them go, we might not be so lucky next time."

He looked into Brennan's tear-filled, frightened eyes. She was only marginally less afraid of the expression in his.

"Nothing is going to happen to your kids," he told her gravely. "I gave Max my word."

He stood up then, leaving the photographs lying on the table.

"Give me a couple of days and I'll know more. I'll be in touch." He brushed a finger against his forehead in an insolent salute to Booth. "Don't worry, I know where you live."

Only the need to comfort Brennan kept Booth from going after him. He reached across their forgotten lunch and held her frozen fingers in his.

"Take those pictures to Angela and see what she can do with them, okay?" He knew she needed something practical to keep her busy. "The asshole is right, we don't want to scare off whoever's setting this up but that doesn't mean we have to sit back and do nothing. Don't let Zach out of your sight this afternoon. I'll hang out at soccer practice. It's going to be okay, Bones" he promised. "The kids are going to be fine."

They both looked toward the door through which Harland had disappeared.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

_I've missed Harland. He's so much fun to write. _

_Thanks for reading!_


End file.
